Flowers and Thunder
by the tx -Victor Creedy
Summary: A tale chronicling the intertwined paths of two individuals: an old god, and a young romantic. As death carves his path through a forever-changed universe, the forces of two worlds coalesce.
1. Introduction

Death.

A natural process. A device accepted as irrefutable fact. A means by which one might attempt to escape the toils of existence, and a fate that, somehow, one might wish to avoid.

Death is a matter of fact. And as a result of sentient nature and condition, death is often personified. More often than not, this comes from the want for absolute closure at life's demise. A force which may allow a perished soul to travel past their end assured and assisted. Unhindered...unabated.

But very rarely do we consider a personification of death to even exist. We accept that, in reality, death holds very little for us beyond nonexistence. The idea of a reaper simply remains, innocuous.

But what if it did?

And still; what may the reaper truly have in store for us?

Beyond simply a...

romantic?

* * *

_Flowers and Thunder_

* * *

Inspired by the works of:

Monty Oum

Stan Lee

* * *

Featuring characters created by:

Monty Oum

Stan Lee

Jack Kirby

Larry Lieber

George Perez

Roy Thomas

Jason Aaron

Ernie Hart

Don Heck

Victor Creedy

* * *

written by

Victor Creedy

* * *

The **Æsir **were once one of the mightiest peoples in the Cosmos. Gods. Since the time of their great beginning, this pantheon ruled both ruthlessly and diligently. Charging themselves with the task of promoting and executing their own will, wherever they could see fit. But in time, the **Æsir **perished, one by one. Falling from grace. Culminating in their prophetic end of days: **Ragnarøkkr. **Wherein their seat in the realm eternal, Asgard, was destroyed.

Very few of them remain.

Some say the prophecied **Ragnarøkkr **is yet to be completed.

* * *

Mankind is a paradigm. They believe they are unique in the cosmos, one species among many. This is not true.

They do not stifle alone in their existence on one world.

They are subject to the machinations of an ever-expanding Universe.


	2. Prologue

**The Rexes Ladd, Leicester, United Kingdom**

**1988**

Cigars and plush seats were a welcome change to the standard downtime routine of Lewis Burton. On a typical autumn evening like this, he would've usually entertained himself with some sort of a simple outing. Usually a visit to some restaurant. European, never oriental. The ordering of a meat dish, complimented nicely with a couple of sides, and a scotch. He would then sit, typically, by a window. And, typically, alone. Only too observe the dull streets under a dull sky and the occasional car, while picking at his meal. If he were lucky the establishment might have some better views; a terrace overlooking some patch of trees, or a field. That was far better. Taking in the calming Autumn air, studying the bright colours and dull colours. Listening to the wisp of sweeping stalks across the concrete. The drive here had been like that, he thought. That helped put his mind easy. Today was a better day.

Regardless, his usual outing for today would have been a lot different. The typical routine though has been broken. And fortunately, he had been able to muster some company. Lewis was sat to the centre of this group. To his left, Edward. His best friend, ex-best friend, best friend again, a public school friend. They were each other's piece de resistance. A man with healthy looks; skin and auburn hair alike. A society man, semi-influenced by Lewis himself.

To Edward's left, was his own cousin. John. Not much about was about him. A local man with dark hair and stache ("Whiskers of the era!", as the third member of the group has said confidently earlier that morning.) That third man was John's brother, Michael. Lewis had known from the instant they had met, he would be the 'fun' one. His suspicions were confirmed when he picked up two brunettes before having entered. They were now either side of him. Past the girls was the fourth man. A friend of John's. Even though the group had been together for a number of hours, Lewis hadn't picked up his name. Either that or he had forgotten. In fact, all he seemed to remember about the guy was that he asked for the car to be stopped so he could have a smoke. Unlike the rest of them, he wasn't fancy about what he piped into his mouth. Now he sat off to the far side of them all, eyes forward.

At that moment, Lewis Edward and John all clasped the inevitable cigars between thumbs and fingers. Lewis placed his own back between his teeth and took a draw. The end lit up brilliantly, casting the all-too-familiar orange glow out in front of his face. The taste was brisk, the most satisfying sensation anyone could experience. Pursing his lips, Lewis could feel his tastebuds perked. Every imperfection and surface in his mouth gave a simultaneous sigh of satisfaction. Yawning together in ecstasy. As the mature tobacco wistfully brushed over them. All the while, Lewis inhaled through his nose.

Surrounding them was the expected decor for a cinema. A high ceiling. Presumably painted and glossed on as frequent basis as could be, thanks to the years of visitors puffing their fumes around the hall. Lewis felt no shame in considering this. Would he have even considered glancing at the place if they prohibited smoking? The curtains were green, a perplexing choice, nonetheless adding to the charm. Then again everything in the place was green. It was slightly annoying though. To Lewis at least. Having red seats, tablecloths, and the like helped make a cinema cosy. What you'd like to feel when viewing a film. Contrasting the often white, and sometimes blue beam from the projector. But green? Sickening.

He was thinking too artistically.

He never thought artistically, for god's sake.

Perhaps today wasn't much of a better day.

He took another, longer, draw.

There wasn't anything flanking the screen. But upon sitting down, Lewis had made out the extravagant piece of stonework atop the screen. A large piece of marble defaced with swirls of laurels and vines, and other mystifying elements that were meaningless to practically everyone.

Lewis could imagine the sculptor. Probably some podgy, greying twat from the Mediterranean. Who takes one look at the marble slab, and hacks at it with a blade of some sort. He guessed an axe. And probably a few pot-shots with a blunderbuss for good measure.

The cinema had seats. Comfortable ones too. Where they sat in the stalls was composed mostly of armchairs, with one long table stretching abreast each of the rows of seats. Ideal for placement of drinks and ashtrays. In front of them, a few dozen rows of traditionally arranged seats. Velvety and springy to the touch. Beyond those, down in the pit, was the most luxurious place to be seated. Twenty or so rounded tables, each dressed with a fine cloth. Accompanied by swivelling chairs.

In the corner of his eye, he caught Michael whispering to one of his companions. She giggled in compliance and caught Lewis' partial gaze, so did Michael. They stared for a moment.

"What is it?"

He asked this in a hushed voice, as not to disturb the film. Lewis looked past the other two, facing Michael a little more.

"I was about to ask the same."

Lewis Hushed his voice similarly. He gave a slightly ponderous, sort of glare.

"Something stronger."

"Hm?"

"Some-thing strong-er. You know, not weak. Not mild. The opposite of this."

He gestured with the finished cigar between his fingers, before quickly placing it back onto the tray.

After that slow reprimand, Lewis got it. Chuckling a little bit, he reached down toward his feet, producing his bag. A medium-sized weekender, in dark, nut-coloured leather. Unzipping it as silently as he could, he was ready to produce one of three portable humidors, but he went back to Michael for reference. Michael just stared again. He faced Lewis and opened his hands up slightly in confusion. Lewis didn't want to ask again, he'd let Michael come to his senses. Which took him about half a minute.

"_Oh. _Uhm...Parejo...Cuban."

Typical; the most classic style of cigar.

Lewis nodded in relief and turned back toward the bag. Still attempting to make as little noise as possible. If anyone else had been fumbling with the bag, they might've feared eyes boring into their head from behind. That wasn't a worry for their particular group, as they situated themselves at the back. Smokers were asked to sit at the back anyway. He produced the humidor and opened it. Satisfyingly, two brass components appeared from underneath the lid as it was opened. Smooth levers, similar to what propelled steam engines. Massive machinery situated in the hearts of industry, now long outdone. But how could it be? Nothing here ever seemed outdone, not to him. Not here, not in this age. There was far too much to interpret. The greyest of days, here in this country. This world even. Morphed, shifted, transformed. Humming winds of doom that did once brush across the head and body, instead entombed. Surfaces beneath the feet; floors. Surfaces around him; walls. A grey day on a blue world had just become greyer. Monochromatic, even.

No sanctuary was other than this. Every path had its ends accumulate back here. No way to a Purgatorio. Utterly no hope for a Paradisio. Just seven spectres haunting without end.

John, Michael and Edward stared at him.

"Holding up alright Burton? I'm still waiting." Michael mused, raising his brows as he gave a slight chuckle. The girls giggled too.

Lewis shook his head. As with most daydreams, it had become lopsided. Had that even been a daydream? No. Just another trainwreck of thought. He slid his fingers up his nose, pinching the bride, and leaning into his hand. A dismal sigh followed. Michael was still anticipating his cigar.

"Oh look, you've upset him. I'm guessing he doesn't like you now, what a shame."

A frustrating tease of a voice. It was from Edward. Lewis turned again to face him. His cigar still clasped where it should be. He chuckled, widening his grin as he did so. Lewis' own sly grin persisted.

"There's only one person on the face of the earth who can upset me. You should know that!"

"I could never guess."

"Piss off." That was said without a hint of bitterness. Both of them laughed, quietly and controlled.

"Don't make me ask aga-"

"It's coming, Michael." As he said this, Lewis produced a Parejo from the opened humidor. It was shaped like a cylinder, expertly wrapped and preserved. Hence the hefty price tag. Lewis always went top of the range for his smokes, no questions asked. John had turned away and was flattening out his stache. Next, Lewis got out his lighter. A fine chrome, with the fashionable flip-open lid. The type an action star might flip up with a fine _click_ before tossing onto a puddle of gasoline. With the flame lit, he put it to the cigar. Not daring to put it between his own teeth. Once the edges were evened out nicely, and everything was burning correctly in a crisp black, he finally handed it to Michael. Who examined it, tilting it slightly between his fingers.

"Oh, thanks." Putting it between his teeth and taking a draw. He seemed disappointed having not lit it himself. John intersected.

"Don't worry Michael. It's like, in his nature to be courteous. He is royalty after all."

All of the men then turned back to Lewis. Edward's expression was scrunched as he withheld a laugh.

"Well, I mean, I told you lot he was _something_. Didn't I? Take a guess." Michael's expression changed to one of mock concern.

"Oh god."

"What?" John replied.

"He's not a Lord Lieutenant is he?"

"No!" Edward remarked, surprised. Subsequently putting his head in his hands and laughing again. Michael continued turned again to Lewis himself and extended a reassuring hand.

"You did strike me as that type, Lewis. If you are, don't worry, it's easy for me to sympathize with a man who has to put up with a 'job' that's that shit."

He turned swiftly to the girls.

"You know, it's entirely voluntary. They ponce around their county as the Queen's representative. They even have to pay for their own fucking uniform for christ's sake."

The remark itself wasn't even that amusing, but the two young women still broke out in laughter anyway. One clapped her hands in amusement and pivoted to look at Lewis. Everyone else was still grinning. Lewis was too, as he turned back to the screen.

"You aren't really, are you?" One of the girls managed to ask through her laughter. A sweet voice. Pronounced. Much like the men of the group

Lewis slouched slightly in his seat, achieving a more comfortable position. He took a quick draw. After spitting the smoke back out he settled the debate.

"No. I'm the son of an Earl."

Edward scanned the group.

"There you go people, problem solved." He shook his head in amusement at the whole ordeal, then taking a draw. Before having his attention drawn to a family, sitting a few metres in front of them. With two small boys, mother father, and what looked to be grandparents. The mother and grandfather and taken fleeting glances over their shoulders. No doubt in response to the ruckus happening at the rear. A middle-aged looking fellow sitting by himself had done the same. Edward and Lewis looked at one another. Both of them shared the same concern.

"Alright people, pack it in." That did it. Lewis had that sort of air about him. The laughter slowly subsided. Edward, similarly to Lewis, sat back in his chair. Screen-side, Tom Hanks' character was looking sentimental. Wandering through the white-picket suburbs of some...place...in New York. He didn't know, as he didn't travel stateside very often. The movie itself was interesting enough. A boy whose wish is granted from some magical fairground attraction. Becoming _Big_. In other words, an adult. The concept was fun, the humour was good. What more did he need to ask for? A streak of white crossed the screen. It was a man, walking through the seats a few rows forward. He didn't look around. And strode with a sense of elegance and ease, yet he still seemed purposeful. The white streak itself was his hair. It was nesty, that's to say it was somewhat unkempt. But it still was passable, at least compared to Lewis'. Or practically anyone else in that cinema. He appeared to be wearing glasses too. Then vanishing off to the right down a set of stairs to the lobby. Lewis turned his attention away. Everyone was now quietly smoking again, watching the film.

"Alright?" Edward said again. Lewis shifted to him once again.

"Never better."

"I'd hate to see you lose it again."

"Funny." Lewis took another draw. Edward leant in closer to him, holding his cigar back. Concern was just barely registerable on his face.

"I mean that." He leant back and took a draw himself. "You've done this, ages, literally. I was worried when you did it then, and I still am when you do it now."

"Oh, I know, friends will be friends. But I'm just saying-"

"Don't. I've seen where you can go when you get into your little fucking...zone...or whatever. I'm just doing what I think you need. Even if you don't think you really need it. You understand?" Lewis sighed. "I won't mention Sheffield."

"Good." Another longer draw was in order, Lewis took it. He had turned away from Edward. Who himself had decided to stop at that. There was an array of polarizing substance he could explore with Lewis if he wanted. But he was wiser not to. It was about a minute before either of them spoke again, the silence was palpable.

"So how's Dad then?" Lewis' interest seemed to return, and his mild distaste gone as he pivoted to Edward. Crossing one leg over the other.

"The same."

"What even is the same with him. I can't tell. When was the last time I met him?"

"That first class of 83' get together, the dine-and-go one. I didn't really enjoy it."

"Oh of course. Still, I got that same feeling from him." Mockingly, Edward puffed his chest slightly and pursed his lips.

"Terminate! Annihilate! Our enemies must die! You know, that sort of thing." He said that in an aged voice, almost perfectly akin to that of Edmund Burton himself. Lewis chuckled.

"Heh. Uh...yeah. That's accurate. He went through both wars, so I wouldn't expect anything much too different." They conversed more. Reminiscing about a few experiences from school, and some other remarks about Lewis' father. Suddenly, Michael had stretched over and tapped Edward on the shoulder. Not gingerly but with obvious excitement. His glee was clearly expressed.

"Look." Lewis looked "Not John, his cousin." The cousin in question looked miserable, eyes stuck to the screen. His cigarette gingerly held between his middle finger and thumb. Despite it being lit, he rolled it between his fingertips, in boredom by the looks of it.

"Yoo-hoo." It was clear Michael was going to enjoy this. John said nothing, nor did the others.

"Enjoy the movie, dear?" Any one of them might've stepped in, could've put a stop to Michael's teasing right there and then. But none of them did anything. Just clasped their cigars patiently, smoke still wafting like the autumn appendages outside probably were. Lewis had leant forward, resting his elbows on the table. With the other two looking past his back. They were all conditioned like this. Days upon days at public school had taught them one of the many functions of life: keep calm, and worry not. Or something along those lines. They saw bullying as just another object of human nature and thought that they needn't worry, not if it had nothing to do with them. Lewis had been pondering this for a while: the cousin and Michael would eventually clash. Now they were. It was as if his savage expectations had come to light. He was even somewhat excited to see what happened next. He took a draw.

"Oh Dillion, darling, I asked a question?" So, that was his name. The girls were giggling profusely, chirps of laughter escaping from behind their hands. Dillion took a draw of his cigarette. An unmistakable expression of frustration had taken ahold of him. Lips firm, trying not to look at the rest of the group, he concentrated on the screen.

"Aww...come on, stop smoking and talk to me." Despite being interested to see the outcome, Lewis couldn't stand that voice. Michael tapped his foot. The others watched and waited patiently. The girls still giggled.

"I'm still waiting dea-"

"Will you fucking shut it! Shut up!" In an instant, Dillion had spun around. Red-faced, he had thrown his hands open in frustration. Beads of sweat were almost visible on his brow. No one said a word, Michael's company stopped their giggling. Dillion wasn't a big guy, but still tall enough and big enough to make an impression. He didn't have a large stomach but wasn't that lanky either. He was blonde, like Edward, but is nowhere near as fair. It was almost white, stark against other shades of blonde. His goatee was thick, the same could not be said for the rest of his beard. Prebuesecent and patchy. He wore a red and black check shirt, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up to show more hairs of the same, ugly blonde.

Facing the rest of the group, Dillion spersed his heavy breath. Along with him, another dozen heads had turned to face the group. They could be heard; bodies and clothes rustling against seats. It all happened in a singular motion, like a flock of birds moving around. Their interest peaked at the shout which had come from the back of the cinema. A child has begun crying. Lewis thought that a parent might shout back, complaining about Dillion's vulgarity. None did. The man himself kept his gaze fixed on the group, only deviating to stub out his cigarette, with quivering hands. He ran one of those hands across his forehead and through his hair. Lewis expected some kind of dogged response, but instead, he watched Dillion take a deep breath. Averting his eyes for a moment.

"I-...you know what..." He still seemed hampered. Probably the pressure of still having around half of the grand room still alternating their gazes at him. John, surprisingly, seemed uninterested in helping his cousin. Taking the odd draw whilst peering at the floor. Edward still observed like Lewis was doing. Michael did so with a mildly suppressed grin.

"You know what really grinds these _fucking _gears? Eh?" He had seemed to have found his ground but had lowered his voice.

"I have been nothing but civil with you lot this evening. And I get fuck all in return. I know you're all here to have a good smoke, have a good laugh, have a chat. Right? I've been left on the back burner. Now that's not a problem, I think. You fellows seemed happy enough in each others company. But we have sat through three fucking features tonight, and I haven't been able to enjoy any of them. Not cos' of the smoke mind you, it's your bloody chatter! Isn't it!"

None of them said anything. They had been talking. Dillon's breath was still heavy. Taken out of context he might've sounded intimidating. He had no booming accent, making his remarks surprisingly meek. On his face were creases that spasmed up and down. Following the patterns of his anger.

"Now, I want to get back to watching the film."

They were unimpressed. John looked hopeless.

"Alright? That's a-...all I want. All I want."

"Leave then." He had stood. Buttoning his jacket. The others all stood in unison. Letting him pass.

"Look." Extending an arm to the rest of the room, where a number of the audience were still watching the exchange. Dillion looked. The turned back.

"You're the one who's gone all gung ho. It's not us who's caused a scene."

"No thanks to your friend. I mean, I'm just trying to enjoy myself."

"Well from the looks of it." He looked to the others: the girls and Michael maintained their grins, John had turned away, Edward watched indifferently. "So are we."

"I-"

"You don't like it. **Piss off. **Leave." In an instant, he had snatched the cigarette limply hanging for Dillion's hand. Rolling it between his fingers, before letting it bridge his fingertips and glide down onto his palm. Like an exhausted runner cresting a hill onto a plateau. Even in the dim light, and still in the view of dozens of eyes watching him. Dillion glared at the cigarette, half of its original size, resting in the hand. It rested on transformed flesh...burnt flesh. Unnaturally white. So vividly distinguishable against the tone of his skin. As if the hand itself was petrified. Not frozen, but frightened. It was enough to make Dillion quickly turn his head away, pursing his lips. The hand had been uncomfortably close. Dillion looked at the floor and stood. Without a word, he walked down the stairs and out of the stalls. Hands in pockets, and with some his annoyed spectators still watching.

"Lewis..." Edward shook his head, yet again giving a wide grin. Returning to his seat, Lewis promptly picked up his cigar and took a fast draw. Blowing out he remarked:

"He's left, hasn't he?"

"But you don't have to fluff it up so much. I-" Bewildered, Edward fumbled with his words slightly. His voice peaked with curiosity. "I mean you showed him your burn for god's sake." Lewis poised himself to respond.

"To surmise: when has acting like a weirdo really not worked?"

"That's never really been your thing though."

"Fair."

"You don't even have a thing really. _This _is your thing." Edward held up his cigar. Lewis chuckled. He wouldn't deny it.

"Unlike you, I broaden myself. As long as there's the money do it, there's nothing I won't do. But we all have our preferences."

"Which is why I love you so."

"Fuck off."

"Oh no. He's copying me now." Michael interjected. "I bet Dillion could use some of your love right now Johnny. Isn't that right?" John didn't respond for a moment.

"I'm not going after him till' the film ends."

"Good." "Good." Edward and Michael had jinxed each other.

"He's probably just out the back holding himself." Michael chuckled to himself. Edward interjected: "No no. He'll literally just be out the front door. Just having another, you know." Edward made a fist, with his thumb held above it, before putting the hand to his mouth. With which he made a clicking sound and moved the thumb up and down. A crude imitation of a lighter. The party laughed as one.

"Too true, too true." Lewis said through his laughter. Before taking yet another draw.

...

Leicester wasn't asleep. No city of its size ever really was, even in the north. Outside there was a slight breeze the was just enjoyable enough. The chill of the air was refreshing. It was dark. A few lamposts buzzed down the street. Black puddles sat stationary in every dent and uneven ground, catching the glimmers of said lamposts. No cars were rolling down the road. In fact, the only car visible was dark coloured two-door with a young man at the wheel. Hands in his lap. Probably expecting someone leaving the film. Lewis stood idle among the crowd of bodies shuffling out the doors. Footsteps all around him. Ahead were a few deserted storefronts, all the lights off. Most prominently, a repair shop. The name was: 'Dixon's' Displayed on the glass, underneath which was a list of services which he couldn't make out. Although he could read the sign on the door: '_Open at dawn.' _Oh. Lewis checked his watch. It had just gone ten."Fair enough." He had been standing almost in the centre of the crowd, which was now splitting down either side of the street. Groups of friends chatting. Families with children excitedly talking about the movie. Couples hand in hand. While a few people still lingered, either talking amongst each other or waiting alone. He had left by himself; he and Edward had sat chatting through the credits. John went off looking for Dillion. Lewis assumed their own ways back home since they lived locally. The last he had seen of Michael, he had been walking off with the girls on his arms. Where they went didn't matter, it was Edward he was still waiting for.

What a weird day. The films were good, he thought. But it was the socialising they had all come for, really. And that they had done for about eight hours. John was the one who kept returning to the lobby to buy more tickets. There wasn't much strange about getting deep in thought, especially when being in one place for several hours. But this had been different. He had felt shaken. Lost, even. No, no. He wasn't lost. Even Edward had said that: 'I'd hate to see you lose it again.' What on earth did he mean? Lewis wondered. He understood that it might seem like, but it was just anxiety. Feelings that everybody had. Perfectly rational. Then the scene with Michael had been shoved in the way. Lewis wasn't concerned, it had been humorous. Today had been a better day, he wasn't going to let petty shit like that ruin it for him. Lewis peered around the people still lingering. Edward was coming back.

"Where were you?"

"Using the toilet." Edward had Lewis' bag slung, the one with the humidor and cigars. He smiled.

"So." Edward looked about. "The crowd has dispersed."

Lewis checked around him, slightly confused. "Oh, yeah. Michael went off with his companions, John went after his boy. Which leaves the odd couple." Lewis laughed. "Speaking of. How is she?"

"Great. But since you brought her up, you know what I have to do nooow." Edward had gone singsong, Lewis grimaced; "I know."

"She thinks you can do better. Then again, you don't really have anyone to do better with." Lewis stepped toward him a little more, knowing that the conversation had swiftly taken a turn. Behind them, the lights of _The Rexes Ladd _was illuminated in an array of dots. Pulsating and shifting. Traditional neon and electric lights, not unlike the ones you might find ornated around cinemas and brothels in Hong Kong, and other places across the far east. The walls of the place tapered inward, appropriately displaying posters for upcoming films. The building itself didn't have a tall face. Lewis guessed that the pit and screen sat below the street. He looked back to Edward.

"Well. I'd like to say I have the next best thing. But I don't quite know what he has to say to that." He grinned a mock grin.

"He says you need more friends."

"Oh shut it."

"Why?"

"I have enough."

"Oh really."

"Yeah."

"I don't believe that. It's only me and the others from house, right?"

"Yes. But you know what I say to that: people only tend to have a few good friends in life. Why is it wrong that I should keep it that way."

"It isn't. But its always good for people to open up a bit more." Lewis glanced at the floor for a split second.

"Listen, Ed. I know you're doing what you think I need. But I'm the one to do that. That's why I organised tonight, you understand? Things have changed for me so much...so much recently. I'm just doing what I need to do to stay in a good place. And that includes spending time with you and the other guys. I enjoy it. I think we all do. If not, it would just be me. If not, me and father. That gets stale after a while."

"Parents tend to, even mine."

"You see? I think I'm doing enough. It, you know...it makes me glad to know your thinking of me. That's what a good friend does." Lewis smiled warmly. Waiting for Edward's equally tender response.

"It's not like you to get all sentimental." Well then.

"Oh come on, I know that's usually your forte." Lewis opened his arms. "But it's my time to shine." They embraced. A quick one though. One of some firm friends. When they parted, Lewis glanced around. Most of those still waiting had left. Edward was quick to notice.

"I guess that's my cue."

"Sure is. I'm gonna get a cab."

"Right. Ranks up that way I think." A point down the street to Lewis' left, by Lewis himself, was enough. Edward gave a confident nod in response. There was a roundabout at the end, busy with passing lights. Lewis lowered his arm and looked around again. But concernedly. He checked his watch. Forgetting it wasn't a day date.

"Shit."

"What?"

"It is the sixteenth, isn't it?

"No..."

"When was the sixteenth then?!"

"Three days ago.

"I've got to call him."

"Your father?"

"Yes." Lewis pulled some coins out of his jacket pocket. "There a phonebox anywhere nearby?"

"I didn't see one when we were coming in. Just come down the street with me."

"No...I'll-" Lewis cut himself off. Noticing something. He peered over his shoulder. Edward looked a little puzzled. It was one of the shops, the white one specifically: Dixon's. In the bleed of one of the lamposts, he could just about spy something different. The door was standing ajar. "I'll find something. I need to warm the car up anyway."

"Sure. We'll catch up, you lonely bastard. Here." He passed Lewis his bag back, which Lewis slung across one shoulder.

"That's the sad thing about you Edward; you never will be lonely." Edward quickly caught onto the snark. He clasped his hands behind his back. Never did he feel any pity for Lewis, they were long past that.

"Oh well. Make sure I'm unoccupied when you ring, I've got lots of stuff coming up."

"Right on, see you soon. "

"Bye." Both of them exchanged waves before Edward turned began his walk. Lewis, now alone, pondered his decision. It was far from breaking and entering, as the door was open. If he ran into someone he would just ask to use a phone. If not, he'd just try not to wake anyone up. Except for his father, though. Who himself would probably wake up in a right mood after having the phone brought to him? Right? Lewis couldn't imagine his father actually getting up to answer the phone. Even if it did end up being Lewis. Not as if he would be excited to get a call from Lewis. Pocketing the change, Lewis strode across the road. Reaching the other side, he looked back at the cinema, which only had two patrons left waiting. Walking past some of the other darkened storefronts, father from the cinema, the silence caught up. The typical, eerie quiet of the night. Only broken by the fine, leathery snap of his shoes on the pavement. Before it was broken by something else; the sound of an object hitting metal. Lewis peered back again. It was just a bird, a black one. Landing on the roof of a car parked several meters back. Seeming to be a raven or crow, it was too big to be anything else. Lewis thought it odd.

"Bloody things." He said, reaching the front of Dixon's. With little hesitation, Lewis placed a hand on the door. Slowly pressing forward, he hoped to cheat the bell, if there was one. Not hearing the sound of one, or the creak of any bell mechanism, he pushed the door fully open. Silence followed him inside. A few rows of shelves led up the counter, with wall-mounted exemplars of services and finished products. Lewis didn't register any of it. As it was mostly shrouded in dark. No lights were on anywhere. Had the second-storey lights been on? No, he remembered. Reaching the counter, he immediately peered round the back. Amongst some clutter, a phone. "Thank god." He muttered. Setting his bag on the ground before quickly grabbing the receiver. He wanted to get this call done quickly. Hoping to head for a hotel for the night and rest, and possibly get something to eat. Putting it to his head, his fingers made for the rotor. But before inputting any numbers, his eyes were yet again drawn to something else. A piece of crockery. He looked further. A plain white mug, with steam still wafting skyward. Lewis froze. It was probably just the elderly owner leaving his drink before going back to bed. No one was up, otherwise, he would've heard something. Still, he took extra care when dialling.

5...the incessant whir of the rotor stuck through the silence like sniper's bullets.

...1..._click_

...5..._click_

...3..._click...click...click...click_

Was he going mad? If he wasn't, the rotor had just clicked back three extra times. But fainter.

It wasn't the rotor, he realised.

Lewis leant back up from the phone. Looking at the storefront window. It wasn't even the phone. It was fast, firm footfalls. The sound of someone making their way up the street. And past the dull sound of the tone in his ear, he could make out something distinct. The familiar third footstep; a cane against the concrete. Lewis kept his hand away from the rotor. Still frozen to the spot. The footsteps grew but began to slow. Lewis was waiting for a shadow to stride past the window. He kept his gaze there. They came in sets of three. The two footsteps followed the click of the cane. A fine metal click, probably a hallmark of good quality.

Suddenly, a figure appeared through the glass. A man. Straight back and good posture. He wasn't elderly, although Lewis had guessed that due to the speed at which he seemed to walk. The figure took three steps forward, coming close to the end of the window, and the start of the door. He hovered seemingly looking across the street. Lewis remained dead still. Not out of fear of danger, but out of fear that this might be the owner and not-so-elderly resident of Dixon's. The chance of getting berated for trespassing frustrated him. Lewis wondered if maybe he had a wife, asleep upstairs perhaps. Placing his cane down of the pavement, both hands resting atop it, the man continued to look around. Lewis' efforts to remain unseen and unheard seemed to be working. "You'd better not fucking disappear." The man paid no attention to the store. Until he placed a hand on the door. Lewis' heart skipped a beat and sank at the same time.

The door was pushed open, the man stepped up. They made eyes. The man's eye-line uncannily matching Lewis' the moment he passed the door. They gazed for a few seconds. Lewis needed to make his intentions clear, quickly.

"Sorry I... really needed to make a call. Your door was open." The man held his still and kept his gaze on Lewis. Who placed the receiver back down. "I'll leave now." But before he could take a step, he heard a reply.

"Shh."

Lewis stayed put.

"They're probably asleep up there."

"I didn't-

"This store doesn't belong to me, my friend." The man stepped out of the perpetual darkness surrounding them. That was when Lewis remembered him. One of the men from the cinema. The silver-haired one. A pair of spectacles sat halfway down his nose, they were small and brown. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up neatly. Across his torso was an olive green waistcoat with pewter buttons, glimmering in what little light there was from outside. His shoes and trousers were black. His features were of a slightly aged man, but Lewis felt the infallible charm of a younger man shine through. Somehow.

Ozpin rested his cane against the end of a row of shelves, making sure to place it down lightly.

"You didn't drink out of that mug, did you? You just seem as if you might've."

Today had been a better day for Lewis Burton. But that didn't mean it hadn't been a stranger one.


End file.
